


Ground

by L56895



Series: Old writings [1]
Category: Wuthering Heights - Emily Brontë
Genre: F/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27027598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L56895/pseuds/L56895
Summary: To Cathy, the moors always seem more like home
Relationships: Catherine/Heathcliff (Wuthering Heights)
Series: Old writings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972534
Kudos: 2





	Ground

**Author's Note:**

> I came across this story that I wrote in 2011 for a Livejournal Porn Battle (XI!) the prompt was ‘moors’ and I imagine I couldn’t have found a better random for it!

To Cathy the moors were home. Not simply the backdrop to her childhood at Wuthering Heights, but the place where freedom was possible. A place where all the decisions she had made and regretted disappeared, to be replaced by a glorious moment when Heathcliff ran his hands up her skin to cup her breasts.

Sometimes, even after her wedding, she would ride into the depths of the moors to lie down in the long grass and imagine the feel of the ground on her bare skin. Edgar never followed, calling it ‘frivolous pursuit’. She knew that he wanted to try and tame her, that it was only the fear of failing that preventing him from putting his foot down and demanding that she stay indoors and engage in activities far more becoming of a young wife.

Yet she feared that even meek, mild Edgar might be consumed by a jealous rage if he ever gained the ability to see through her; through the stubbornness and wildness that encased her and into her deeper thoughts. Into that deep crevice of her mind where her visions were not of her husband but of Heathcliff; his lips on her neck and his hands finding their way underneath her skirts.

More than anything she feared the day when she would be forced to stop her foolish fancies and lock the door on her heart.

But for the present she would remain on the moors, listening with a small smile and bent knees for the sound of hoof steps on the dry summer ground.


End file.
